Just Like Your Father

Sirius Black was, understandably, quite delusional at some moments after experiencing such a long time in the prisons of Azkaban… Twelve years, in fact. Lengthy years that the rebellious Black spent in the proximity of the dark and gloomy Dementors, and all without even knowing whether his godson, Harry James Potter, had survived Dark Lord Voldemort’s notorious assault on the Potter family. It was a drastic surprise that he was even partly sane, and it was all thanks to his Animagus form of Padfoot… gifted through the Marauders’ old adventures back at Hogwarts.

It was only a few days after discovering that his godson, James’ son, Harry, was still out there in the cruel, expansive world with a scrap of newspaper carelessly tossed through the bars of his dreary prison cell that he escaped Azkaban. He, Sirius Black, was the first ever criminal (although wrongfully accused and condemned) to have escaped the Wizarding World’s most horrifying prison!

However, it was not possible for there to not be any lasting negative effects, except for perhaps on his outer appearance—his old, weary body. At least that could be thoroughly healed through the best Mediwizard’s work and such. It was the inner soul and mind that had been torn, tarnished, and broken to such a drastic extent that it was with slim possibilities it could ever be recovered completely and perfectly. Now tainted by the Dementors’ shivering cold misery and despair, Sirius Black’s mental processes were to be forever immature; never properly developed ever again.

This had never been shown to be much of a care for the young Harry James Potter, who could only barely cling to thin strings of what may have been his childhood… which had been ripped to shreds by the Dursleys. Here there was a potential parental figure, after twelve years, of which most he was left with poor living conditions and a lonely, ruined cupboard that had strangely been a sort of peaceful and comforting sanctuary in times of need. Anyone who would not treat him as if he was a human version of a house elf would have been better than people like the Dursleys who were extremely horrified at the mere thought of anything magical.

Sirius Black, in the eyes of Harry Potter, looked to be a perfect father figure. He had known and been best friends with his own genuine and birth father in the past, he actually cared about Harry, he knew how to have fun… Any negative traits were easily outshone by the positive aspects that Harry could see. Unfortunately, there was a single thing that tended to bother Harry, and cause him to worry about his godfather’s mental condition…

Sirius seemed to view Harry as simply another James Potter, albeit a younger version. Harry understood that he quite looked a great deal like his father, what with his scrawny build and untamable, messy, ebony hair. He even wore round glasses like his father had. Although there was one striking difference—he had his mother’s emerald green eyes.

How many times had he heard people comment, “You look just like your father, Harry… but you have your mother’s green eyes.”?

It almost seemed like Sirius had not even noticed that Harry shared his mother’s eyes with how he constantly referred to him as “James’ son”. Harry knew that he was James Potter’s son. He also knew that Lily Potter was his mother as well. However, there were differences between him and his father! James Potter was sure to have had a better childhood than Harry had… James Potter was a Chaser in Quidditch, while his son was a natural-born Seeker. James Potter had hazel eyes, with Harry his emerald eyes. James Potter grew up and matured during Voldemort’s first dark reign, and Harry with his second. And so this went on and so forth.

Harry James Potter was not the identical copy of James Potter.

So why was it that when Sirius pointed a glance at Harry that he saw an image of his good old friend, James? His buddy, Prongs? It seemed all too strange… he felt as if James was alive again with his son living here with him. Remus seemed to not have this particular problem with his vision; he clearly saw and realized the difference between Harry and James a long time ago. Then again, Remus had not been chained in Azkaban for a total of twelve years, now had he? No, although he had been living alone in what was probably a terribly miserable life and suffering painfully for he had thought he had lost all of his precious and dear friends (which included not only the Marauders, but Lily as well). It was astonishing that he had not gone at least the tiniest bit insane by this fact, however it was possible… not unlike Sirius with his Animagus form, that the wolf within himself had assisted with taking care of his mind and preventing him from going crazy.

Sirius proved to be oblivious to Harry’s fretting, and was found to be stumbling and stammering over his words as he called Harry “James” several times. It was not a rare occurrence, and others living in the same household were worried as well, Mrs. Weasley in particular. However, even she who had raised seven lovely children was unsure as to how to confront Sirius about this issue. Remus was there as well, gently reminding Sirius that Harry’s name was not James, but Harry every time he slipped.

One day, Sirius happened upon Harry, and promptly began to aim a beaming smile at his godson. Harry could only send a small, tired, and wary smile back which tugged the corners of Sirius’ mouth downwards. He stared down at the tousled, black mess of hair before him and stared worriedly into hazel eyes.

“Are you alright, James?” Sirius merely asked, not finding any fault at all in what he had just said to his godson who was Harry James Potter, and not James Potter.

Harry’s smile immediately froze on his lips, and the poor, young boy even flinched, although the sudden movement was so minute that it had been barely visible. He took a trembling step backwards, with an expression so similar to and resembled that of a deer caught in the headlights. The soon-to-be vanquisher of Dark Lord Voldemort looked ready to flee once hearing Sirius Black’s words. For just the shortest moment, Sirius Black could have sworn that he had seen James’ hazel eyes flicker, and a flash of emerald green eyes appeared before they returned to their normal hazel brown.

“Y-Yes, I’m alright,” Harry nervously stammered as his eyes darted about, frantically searching for an escape route. He spotted the Weasley twins, and hastily created an excuse about having to ask the two about future pranks.

Unaware of Harry’s inner despair and sorrow, Sirius flashed a Marauder-trademark grin at his godson, proud that he was finally getting involved in the prank business. He did not even give a thought to the excuse being what it truly was—an excuse.

It continued to happen, and several days later, Sirius, while in his form as Padfoot, passed by the room of Grimmauld Place that Harry was currently staying in. With his refined hearing, he could hear his godson speaking with his friends, the other two components of the Golden Trio.

“He keeps on calling me by my father’s name! You’ve both heard him, haven’t you?” Padfoot could clearly hear Harry’s frustrated voice with a sort of strained tone that if you cared to think more deeply about it, showed that he was close to crying out in indignation.

“Harry,” Padfoot heard Hermione’s condescending yet somewhat motherly tone of voice, “He’s been in Azkaban for twelve years! I think it may be understandable that he had some… mental issues,” her voice drifted off quietly although his dog ears were still effectively listening.

“Yeah, why don’t you give him some more time, mate?” Ron’s friendly voice rang out a bit too loudly—and two “Shhh!”s could be heard from the other two. Ron had clearly not mastered the art of comforting Harry quite yet. Perhaps it would come in time as he matured.

“I-I’ve tried, Ron! But I-I can’t! Sirius, he… he just needs to understand that I’m not my father; I’m a completely different person!” Harry’s voice was now choked, as he found it difficult to talk while on the verge of crying tears. Shaky breaths were exhaled roughly through out the room, and Padfoot almost whined out loud at the sadness he could sense—but he knew to remain silent. “I love Sirius,” Harry heart-wrenchingly confessed before continuing, “but he… Did you know? When I first cast my Patronus… the happy memory I was thinking of… it was Sirius offering for me to live with him during the summer! I was ecstatic—I mean, anyone would be after experiencing a life with the Dursleys—but this was Sirius, so I was even happier…”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sounded as if she were choking on tears, and Padfoot could easily envision her with her hand clasping her mouth as tears welled up in her brown eyes. Her shoulders were probably hunched inwards, towards herself. He heard the sound of a slight movement, and immediately assumed it to be Ron wrapping an arm around those hunched shoulders as his head leaned on hers.

On the other side of the doors, it was just like Padfoot had imagined. Ron had also closed his eyes tightly, as if to squeeze out any possible tears that may be stinging in his eyes. Harry himself had enclosed himself in a hold that only consisted of his own arms. His small figure trembled as he bit and chewed at his lip vigorously—a nasty habit, it was. Harry’s knobby knees looked as if they were going to collapse at any moment, shaking all so terribly.

“Harry, mate,” Ron’s voice, roughened by tough emotion, pleaded, “come on over here.” This voice, which had almost always been so friendly and kind to him, was beckoning Harry. And so he obeyed, stumbling over to where his two best friends held each other in an intimate embrace. At first, he felt greatly horrified at the idea of intruding the loving moment—and then he felt an overwhelming wave of relief as he saw both an arm of Ron and Hermione’s lifting themselves and opening towards his direction.

Too weak to even run into their arms, which was what Harry immensely desired to do, he fell into their caring hold instead. There, in his new sanctuary (which had greatly upgraded from that ratty cupboard), he began to cry. He sobbed his feelings out. He wailed and disclosed all the internal thoughts and feelings he had kept locked within himself from practice with the Dursleys. He told of these in a watery voice, and was forced to draw in desperate gasps between every few words for breath. During this whole time, Ron and Hermione spoke no words. Hermione simply pressed her cheek to Harry’s forehead, stroking her fingers through Harry’s curly tresses of raven black hair. Ron, who was usually awkward with such close actions, felt nothing wrong as he gently patted and rubbed Harry’s back in a comforting manner. Padfoot, outside of the room, pawed at the wooden floorboards before hunching his huge, black, furry back in dreadful shame.

Finally, after a moment of silence that had felt as if it had been an eternity, Harry managed to grasp some sort of hold onto himself, and gulped before deeply breathing. In and out, in and out, he chanted to himself like a mantra.

Once he opened his mouth to speak, however, that all went to waste. His voice shook with a tremor yet again, and Padfoot could hear…

“How long will this go on?” Harry whimpered with a voice that so closely resembled that of a frightened young child, “W-Will Sirius… die thinking that I’m James Potter?”

Perhaps the most shocking and fearsome thing was that… nobody knew the true answer… not even the notorious Sirius Orion Black.